Fire and Steel
by wbss21
Summary: He's a boy, only a boy.  But sometimes one wonders- are monsters made, or are they born.  And are those we call monsters monsters at all, or just something different from what the rest of us are?
1. Chapter 1

**Fire and Steel: **

**A Dark Knight Fanfiction**

**Chapter 1:**

The sky was fading, purple and orange, bleeding in to red, turning the world hazy; abstract like a dream. The light's intensity became more as the sun began its dip beneath the horizon, and his eyes narrowed against it, casting away, to the ground below his feet, the railway tracks, iron and wood and dirt and gravel.

Cottonwood hung in the air, floating slow and soft past him, tumbling over his short, blonde hair and across his pale and freckled cheeks.

He skipped over the tracks planks, every other one, his arms stretched out at the sides as he landed on the next, going so quickly it was almost like running; like flying.

Like freedom.

He felt the train before he heard it, the planks trembling beneath his feet, and tiny rocks, ricocheting off metal framework.

He smiled.

This was his favorite part; this was the reason he walked the tracks after school, the _real_ reason.

His father's rage didn't matter. He didn't care that every night he felt the man's wrath for being home late.

It was worth it, every bit, when he would hear that deafening whistle, and then the blaring, overwhelming horn which let him know without even looking the train was behind him, that it was so close, and the conductor could see him.

The horn would grow more urgent, more frequent, the driver trying desperately to warn him, to make him move. It was the man's fear; fear for himself, fear for his conscience, for his soul, for his well being, wanting more then anything not to live with the burden of having killed a child.

He could imagine the panic lining his features, the hugeness of his eyes, and the pain of his rapidly beating heart as he screamed uselessly, screamed until his face was red. "Get off! Get off! Get off!"

But he wouldn't.

He wouldn't.

He would stay on those tracks. Jumping over the planks, every other one, even as the vibrations grew so strong beneath him, he barely would keep his footing.

He would stay, and he would hear the train upon him, right behind him now, right behind him. So loud it made the rest of the world disappear. Made it shrivel in to nothingness.

And the driver would be crying, tortured by what he knew was to come, helpless to stop it, to do anything at all. And still the blame would take him.

Maybe his foot would get caught between the framework, maybe he would trip on that last leap, and fall, and never have the time to get off. Maybe he would be crushed and shredded and pulverized beyond recognition beneath a thousand tons of steel and fire.

No control.

No control.

The sound consumed him, the ground shaking, rattling the teeth inside his head. There was nothing, and this was everything.

His eyes closed.

He smiled.

And then he jumped.

/

The force of the train passing had blasted him forward, the rush of air knocking him to the side, slamming him back in to a tree, stealing the breath from his lungs.

He fell, hard, crumpling on his side, half gasping, half laughing, not really able to move.

He nearly hadn't made it this time, the train bulleting past barely a second after he'd leapt.

A second more, and he'd be dead.

He sucked in sharply, rolling to his back, his arms stretched out, above his head. The sky was spinning, round and round, making him sick, the faint light of stars now starting to break through.

And for a while, he just stayed like that, laid out, watching as those stars became brighter, and the world grew dark around him. Silence settled, broken by the humming of mosquitoes and fireflies, and the soft crying of the wind.

There was stillness, and the feeling of being small.

The world would be here still, like this, just like this, even when he was gone.

Far away, he heard the train whistle.

And only the silence heard him laugh.

/

The sun had long set by the time he walked through the front door of the tiny, two bedroom apartment.

He could see his father from here, his face pressed to the kitchen table, passed out in another of his drunken stupors.

He felt the corners of his mouth pulling down at the sight. He didn't bother with trying to be quiet, kicking the door shut with his foot, walking swiftly to his room.

He knew he wouldn't get through the night without catching a beating from the man. He would wake up at some point, come stumbling in to his room, all in a rage. He could hear the loud, obnoxious voice, screaming at him, demanding to know where he'd been.

He always told his father the truth, that he'd been walking the tracks again.

But it didn't matter, it made no difference whether he told the truth or not; his father was going to kick the hell out of him either way, because that's what he _wanted_ to do.

His thoughts shifted from this, to earlier that day, and how he'd lost his bag to a group of boys older then him.

Kenny Brandish and a few of his "friends".

They'd come calling after school, hung up about something or other, something to do with not liking his face.

He'd told Kenny to stop being so hard on himself, that he never knew, things could get better, that maybe someday he'd manage to land a good paying job and not have to worry about the fact he couldn't attract girls with his face.

Kenny didn't like hearing the truth about the cause of his insecurity, and predictably, he'd lashed out.

That's how Jack had lost his bag, ducking under Kenny's punch and swinging it hard in to his face. The thing was heavy, full of books, and the impact had knocked the older boy back and off his feet.

Jack had taken off, over the school grounds and towards the rails, a good mile and a half from there.

It didn't take long for him to lose them, weaving in and out of the different buildings and back alleys. A couple of the boys went down over a trash can he'd pulled over, hitting the ground hard from the sound of it. The others simply hadn't been able to keep pace, eventually giving up, shouting after him, obscenities and threats about what they were going to do to him tomorrow.

He'd smiled and just kept going.

He moved to the light he kept by his bed, a small table lamp which sat on the floor, and switched it on. It filled the space with a dull kind of glow, and one could now see how empty it was, the only other contents consisting of a singles mattress with no frame, and on that a thin blanket and pillow. Against the opposite wall was a dresser, with two drawers and one missing, and that was it.

He wouldn't be able to do his school work tonight, since it'd all been in that bag, but it didn't matter, really. His grades were failing. His teacher thought there was something wrong with him, that he was doing poorly because he didn't understand the lessons. She thought he needed to be placed in a class for those with special needs. He'd told her once that it was nothing more complex then a case of boredom, that he understood perfectly everything she taught. It simply held no interest for him. When she'd persisted in her belief he needed help, he'd gotten agitated and told her he understood her "lessons" better then she did and that, really, she wasn't qualified to be teaching anyone anything.

That had gotten him sent to the Principles office.

Now they were talking about his poor social skills and lack of friends. As if they really cared and weren't just trying to justify the school's spending on extraneous and ineffective programs by filling them with students they stupidly thought fit the bill.

Jack was more frustrated by the fact he'd lost his books then anything.

The library probably wasn't going to let him check any more out now, since he couldn't afford to pay for the ones he already had.

He remembered the strange looks the librarian had given him when he'd laid the books on the counter, college textbooks on chemistry and theoretical physics, mathematics and books on philosophy.

"You checking these out for someone you know sweetheart?" She'd asked.

He'd shaken his head and told her no, that they were for himself, and she'd laughed and said he must be joking.

He'd told her no again, and she just stared at him for a few moments, blankly, and he remembered wanting to smash her face in.

He hated when people didn't believe he could understand something just because he was a child. He didn't know what your age had to do with your intelligence.

Worse still were the people who, because they couldn't themselves grasp a concept, thought no one else should be able to either.

Those were the kinds of people who got angry, got jealous and felt threatened, and then they'd start with the insults.

Stupid, pathetic insults which only made obvious their own insecurity.

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out as he dropped himself on to his mattress, lying back and staring at the ceiling.

He thought of earlier, of the train tracks, the sound of it, and the rush of air as he was knocked back.

And it made him smile.

He must have been thinking of it a long time, and deeply, he realized, as he was startled by the sound of his door slamming hard against the wall, and his eyes shifted forward to find his father, standing in the frame of it, fury lining his features.

"Where the _hell've _you been?" He asked through clenched teeth.

Jack stared back with eyes smoldering, unblinking.

"No where you don't already know about." He answered, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

That synched it.

His father's outreached hands were the last thing he saw before he felt himself being lifted in to the air, and he found himself held up to stare down at the man.

"What's the matter Dad…" He began, his lip curled. "Can't take a joke?"

His stomach flipped in the rush down, and searing pain ripped through his body as he was slammed to the floor against his back, his skull impacting a moment later.

The world spun in sickening circles, impossibly fast.

And then, everything went black.

/

_Hey everybody! So, this is my attempt at a Joker origin story. I know it's been done innumerable times, by me included, haha. But I thought I'd give it another go anyhow, as I've never been extremely happy with my attempts at it, especially with the Joker from the Nolan universe. I plane on it being quite extensive and detailed, and obviously, since the Joker is a very dark character, the story will also reflect that. I hope to take him all the way up through his childhood, where we've started, through his teens and eventually adulthood, where we'll see him finally make the complete transformation in to the character we know. I think, realistically, in all likelihood, the Joker probably displayed sociopathic tendencies, even as a boy, and I tried to capture that here, i.e. I don't think he would be cowering in fear of bullies or his father, like he's often portrayed as doing in these sorts of fics, yet somehow he develops in to this completely fearless and hardened character as an adult. That's a glaring character shift, I think, not character development. So while we may see young Jack as a victim, and he _is_, he isn't how your typical victim might be portrayed, as weak, as feeling sorry for himself, or what have you. Even as a child, he's largely unfazed, unaffected and indifferent to people's feelings, to their emotions and the things they do to him. He's a tough little bastard, even from the start, and, I think, already quite _mean_, despite him being the one enduring the brutality of others. And, of course, as the Joker's a genius, that too would be a quality of his which was always there from the start, and he already would be using his deep insight in to people against them, I think. Anyway, that's the jumping off point, which eventually will snowball in to him becoming a psycho terrorist who dresses up as a clown, lol. _

_Anyway, enough rambling. Reviews are welcomed and requested. Good and bad, short and long. Reviews are important in keeping a writer motivated to keep going. Without them, it becomes very difficult to retain that desire. So, if you read this, I would ask you to take the time to tell me what you think, share your thoughts, where you think its going, where you think it SHOULD go, etc… Let me know. And, of course, right up front, to everyone who read the first chapter, THANK YOU for taking the time and I'll have an update soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

He'd come to, sprawled out on his bedroom floor. The throbbing in his skull was the first thing he took note of, and as he attempted to push himself up, a rush of dizziness came crashing through him, almost putting him back down. And then he noticed the caked up sensation around his nostrils, and he knew without even looking it was dried blood.

His father had kept hitting him even after he'd lost consciousness. That was something he liked to do. Jack knew it was from some desire to draw out the gratification he got when beating him. It frustrated the man, whenever he blacked out like that. He guessed because, when that happened, he couldn't feel the blows anymore. And his father wanted him to feel everything.

He could certainly feel it now as he struggled to his feet, the dizziness increasing tenfold and his body protesting against the stiffness and soreness in his limbs.

His eyes narrowed at the muted light, coming in from the apartment's main area, the pain in his head worsening for a brief, few seconds before leveling off again. He could tell from the color of it that it was probably 6:30 or 7:00 in the morning.

His tongue ran over his lips, the taste of copper filling his mouth, and he stepped forward, out of his room, nearly stumbling as the dizziness came rushing in again. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, making for the bathroom.

His father was already gone, empty beer bottles lining the kitchen table and broken on the floor.

He frowned at the sight, moving past it and in to the tiny bathroom, flipping the switch. The bulb flickered in and out for some seconds before finally becoming stable and Jack went to the sink. He was just barely tall enough to see the top of his head reflected in the mirror, and he stood up on his tiptoes, trying to see his face. It didn't do the trick satisfactorily, and so he grabbed hold of the sinks edges, trying to push himself up that way.

His arms shook with the effort of trying to hold his own bodyweight, and he just barely got a glimpse of the damage his father had inflicted before he collapsed back down.

That was all he'd really needed though. He saw the area around his eyes was black and blue, that there indeed was dried blood, caked up in and around his nostrils, and his lower lip had been split, blood dried there also.

Whenever his teacher asked him about it, he would lie, telling her he'd gotten beat up by some other kids, or that he'd gotten reckless and fell down a flight of stairs. And she would buy it, because the truth was, Jack often _did_ get beat up by other kids, and he _was _reckless.

The school councilor though, that was another story. She didn't believe Jack at all when he gave her those excuses. She knew he was getting it from home. But he didn't really care that she did. He lied because he wasn't interested in talking about himself, most especially not to these people. They only wanted to uncover a case of abuse, so they could then talk to their friends and colleagues about it, brag about "saving" another child, feel good about themselves for having done so. Meanwhile, the child they'd "saved" got carted off in to the states adoption system, well known for its abysmal living conditions, overcrowding and rampant abuse. It would have been no more comfortable living in one of those orphanages then it was living at home with his father. They both were horrible.

He turned on the sink's faucet, cupping his hands under the flow of water and bringing it to his face. He repeated the motion three times more before drying himself on his own shirt.

He was going to be late to school. Nothing new there, but he wasn't exactly excited for the teacher's scolding or incessant, pestering questions. He wouldn't show up at all if it were his choice, if he knew they wouldn't come calling to drag him back.

One of these days he was going to drop out. He was just going to walk away from the whole, stupid deal.

/

It was during recess when Kenny and his gang decided to make their move.

"_Original_." He thought sarcastically. They didn't want to get in trouble, and that was their great weakness, the fact that they _cared_ what happened to them as a consequence to their actions.

It was just past 8:45 when he'd walked in to class, and typically, everyone had turned and stared as he made his way to his seat. He hadn't gone halfway there before the teacher called out his name. He'd just kept walking, ignoring her grating voice.

"Jack!" She spit indignantly. "Jack Napier, come here this _instant_!"

He wasn't really even listening, his thoughts occupied elsewhere.

But Mrs. Trudaman was insistent and she'd come after him, taking him by the arm and spinning him to face her.

"Young man, I'm _talking _to you!" She fumed, clearly exasperated.

He'd just stared back at her, not responding.

Giggles erupted from the other classmates as they watched the display.

"You're late!" She exclaimed. "You mind explaining why that is?"

He blinked, continuing to stare at her.

And then he'd shrugged.

"Because I am." He said flatly.

She'd looked at him incredulously for a moment before huffing, incensed.

Her eyes had roamed over his form, taking in his dirtied state and bruised up face.

"What happened to you Jack?" She demanded. "You're filthy! And your face!

At that point he'd tried pulling out of her grasp, annoyed at her pretentious concern. Funny she seemed only _then_ to notice the state of his condition, too consumed by her own anger to care before.

"Where do you think you're going?" She demanded, jerking him back.

"To my seat." He said, again trying to pull free.

"Oh no you don't!" She'd patronized. "You're going to the Principles office!"

And that was where she'd sent him.

He was a common visitor there, always being sent for one reason or another. And that idiot would ask him the same questions Mrs. Trudaman had, and he would give the same answers before being sent back to class.

He couldn't stand how concerned they were with routine, with doing things by the book, doing as they were _told_; _appearing_ as though they cared when, underneath, they really didn't care at all.

He was sitting along the jungle jim, his legs dangling over the edge, kicking out absently at the air when he saw them coming from the West end of the playground.

He didn't bother running, casting his eyes to the ground, waiting.

And he didn't have to wait long.

"Hey, _freak_!" He heard Kenny's voice call.

He shifted, his head tilting to the side, and he thought of slamming Kenny's front teeth against the metal bars.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" Kenny spit. "You and me got unfinished business!"

"Do we?" Jack mumbled, not bothering to look up.

"Yeah, we _do_! You dumb _fuck_!"

Jack laughed lightly, lifting his head, his eyes sliding past them, to a group of girls on the other side of the field, skipping rope.

He stared at them a long moment, wondering at their obliviousness, how absorbed them seemed in their little game.

But quickly he was drawn back to his would be assailants.

"What happened to your face Napier?" Kenny asked, smirking. "Looks like maybe someone got to you before we could."

"He probably did it to himself, the freak." Another of the boys laughed.

Jack ran his tongue over his lips, his gaze casting down.

"Of course…" He began. "_Business _would imply that you and I _consort_ with one another, _Kenny_. And we both know that isn't true."

Kenny's face twisted in disgusted confusion.

"_What_?"

Jack's eyes rolled up.

"So what's the matter Kenny?" He continued, ignoring the bully's inability to grasp words longer then one syllable. "Those girls over there tell you to screw off and now you're forced to hang with the _class creep_?"

Kenny's eyes flashed in anger.

"You little…"

"Guess no one else will have ya, huh Kenny?" Jack cut him off. "So what? You have to settle for me?" And then he started to laugh.

"Fucking bitch!"

The older boy raged, lunging forward and grabbing hold of Jack's legs, pulling him off the bar.

He just barely missed cracking his skull against it as he went crashing to the ground, landing flat on his back.

The wind was knocked from his lungs, and he sucked in sharply as Kenny reached down, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and jerking him up. A moment later and he was being swung round and thrown, landing and skidding hard across the gravel beneath.

He hissed as he felt his knees and elbows skinned, until finally he came to a halt, falling forward on to his stomach.

A low laughter started in his throat, and he rolled over, on to his back, his mirth only growing as Kenny and his gang came in on him.

"Ouch." He said flatly, looking up at the older boy and grinning.

Kenny stared at him incredulously, his mouth turning in to a frown.

"What the hell's _wrong _with you?" He spit.

And Jack's grin only widened.

"Nothing that isn't wrong with everyone else."

The bully sneered, reaching down and again taking him by his shirt. He reared a fist back, laying it against Jack's jaw, and then again before letting him fall back down.

Jack continued to chuckle lowly, wiping the back of his hand across his nose and mouth, pulling it away to see his own blood.

He licked his lips again.

"Is that the best you've got Kenny?" He chuckled. "My _Grand_mother hits harder than that."

Kenny growled in frustration.

"_Fuck_ you Napier!" He spit.

And Jack kept laughing, suddenly pushing himself up on to his knees and falling forward, wrapping his arms around the older boy's legs.

"What the f…!" Kenny stumbled back, shocked as Jack hugged him.

"Oh Kenny, why do you _do_ this to yourself? You could make it so much _easier_ if only you'd admit what we _have _together." And he pulled himself tighter against the bully.

Kenny flailed, trying to kick Jack from him.

"Get OFF me you _freak_! GET OFF!"

But Jack just kept holding on, his hysterics reaching a fever pitch.

Kenny was a latent homosexual, he was certain, and he knew this would bother him, eat away at him more than anything else, just as his constantly mentioning girls and his inability to get with them did.

And the bully grew desperate then, trying wildly to get Jack off him, and that's when he lost his footing, falling backwards.

Jack laughed loudly, crawling up on to the other boy's chest, pushing his shoulders down.

"Come on Kenny, let me kiss ya." He grinned, leaning down towards Kenny's face.

The bully's eyes went big and he reached up, trying to shove Jack away.

"G… get him OFF me!" He cried, frantic, finding no success in his attempts to throw the younger boy. "Get him OFF!"

Finally getting over their initial shock, Kenny's friends at last came to his aide, grabbing hold of Jack and tearing him from their self-appointed leader.

Jack only continued to laugh as he was tossed roughly to the ground, doubled over in mirth as he pushed himself to his knees.

Kenny was helped to his feet, staggering, almost falling again, his face contorted in obvious humiliation. He didn't even give his friends a chance to ask him if he was alright or suggest they beat the living hell out of Jack before he'd taken off in the opposite direction, running away as if his life were dependent upon it.

His gang just stood, watching in bemusement as he moved farther away, across the playground, and Jack's hysterics only grew.

"B-better go after him…" He laughed, getting to his feet. "There's r-risk of suicide, I think…"

The other boy's glared at him, and he could see they were put off, uncertain and even a little afraid, rattled by how he was acting.

He stumbled towards them, still overcome with laughter, his hands outreached like he was going to touch them, grab on to them.

And that's all it had taken to send them running too.

/

His eyes fixed on the dark haired woman, taking in her haggard and middle aged appearance, noticing the stress lines around her eyes, and between and below, and around her mouth from always frowning. She hated her job, which made him wonder why she even bothered with it. She looked tired and bored, the impression only enhanced when she sighed in exasperation, looking through a thin stack of papers on her desk.

This was the second time today he found himself here. Not unusual, but that didn't seem to console Ms. Woods at all as she looked up at him, clear disapproval in her eyes.

He'd been sent back to the councilor's office because of earlier, when he'd gotten in to yet another fight, in the school cafeteria.

He'd been walking past the table all of the jocks would usually situate themselves at, holding to his lunch trey, when one of the boys, Timothy Stanton, reached out and grabbed hold of it, tipping it over. All of Jack's food had fallen to the floor, and the jocks had begun to laugh loudly.

Jack had just stood there for several, long seconds, staring at the spilled contents, thinking how the ugly, grey floor brought out how disgusting the food here was, oblivious to how the laughter around him grew as the other students took notice of what had happened.

"Dumbass." Timothy had smirked. "Look how dirty you are. Why're you so _dirty_? Like some kinda stupid animal. Why don't you get down on your hands and knees and lap it up like a dog, _freak_?"

At that, Jack had looked up, staring at the boy, observing his arrogant and disdainful expression, his own twisting in displeasure.

"Oh, you don't like that?" Timothy had chuckled. "Well maybe if you didn't always look like you just crawled outta a dumpster, people wouldn't mistake you for a flea bag. So how about it? You gonna get down and lick it up like a good puppy, or am I gonna have to make you?"

Jack had said nothing, just gazing at the football player with angry, unmoving eyes.

"You're gonna make me do it, freak?" Timothy had gone on. And then he'd looked around at the surrounding students. "Who here wants to see Napier lap it up like a dog?" He hollered, and everyone had erupted in to a chorus of loud shouts.

"Guess that's a yes, huh Napier?" He'd looked back to Jack, and still, Jack said nothing.

Timothy's mouth had pulled in to a grin as he stood, satisfied anticipation in his eyes, sure he was in for a good bit of amusement.

He was met with anything but as he moved with confidence towards Jack, still smiling. And when he'd come within a foot of the smaller boy, that's when Jack had stepped back, calmly, his expression never changing, and proceeded to smash the flat side of his trey in to the jocks face as he walked in. The blow had been hard enough to instantly drop Timothy, his arms splaying out above his head.

And there'd been no hesitation on Jack's part as he stepped around him, taking the edge of his trey and slamming it repeatedly against the fingers of the boys left hand. The loud crunch told him he'd crushed the bones, as did Timothy's anguished cries, but he'd just kept going, smashing the trey down, over and over, the rest of the students stunned in to horrified silence, paralyzed with fear.

It had taken a group of teachers and cafeteria workers to eventually pull him off, and by the time they did, Timothy's hand had been terribly mangled, nearly every bone broken, bloodied and cut to shreds from the trey having snapped in half at the stress, turned jagged and sharp.

The football player had been reduced to a sobbing heap of tears and snot as other teachers came to his aide, trying to help him to his feet, to calm him down.

And Jack had smiled, not resisting as they pulled him away, out of the lunch room.

"You want to tell me what happened in there?" Ms. Woods asked, staring hard at him.

And Jack stared back, still for several seconds before giving a vague shrug.

"Are you aware that you broke Mr. Stanton's hand?" She pushed when she could see he wasn't going to answer.

"I figured I might have." Jack said, his tone dry.

This elicited looks of alarm from Ms. Woods, and Jack didn't bother trying to hide his annoyance, rolling his eyes up.

"Well doesn't that _bother _you?" She asked.

Again he shrugged, shaking his head.

"No." He answered.

"Well it _should_." She said, unsettled by his nonchalance.

To that, Jack said nothing, only continuing to stare back.

She exhaled heavily, shaking her head and looking back down at the sheets in front of her, rifling through them.

"Why would you do that?" She asked, looking up at him after a moment of reviewing some of his past incidents.

"Do what?" He asked, pretending not to know what she was talking about.

"_Attack_ Timothy Stanton the way you did." She said quickly, the agitation apparent in her voice. "What in God's name possessed you to lash out like that? To break his hand?"

Jack blinked at her, his brow furrowing in seeming confusion.

"I wanted to." He said simply, as though it should be all the explanation needed.

She looked back at him, incredulous, her mouth hung slightly open.

"Jack…" She started. "That's _absurd_. You can't go around _doing_ things like that just because you _want_ to."

Jack's confusion seemed to grow.

"Why not?" He asked, his voice sincere.

And the shock was now apparent on Ms. Woods face.

"Why _not_?" She repeated the question back in disbelief. "Because there are _rules _Jack, there's _boundaries_, certain things you just _aren't_ supposed to do. Certain ways you don't act. Don't you know that?"

And now it was Jack's turn to look incredulous.

"Says _who_?" He asked. "Who's the one coming up with all these _rules_ and why should I _follow_ them? That's not freedom, that's not _fair_, that I should have to do what someone else tells me."

Ms. Woods gazed at him in astonishment.

She knew Jack was an intelligent child, that he was highly intuitive and perceptive, but she often found herself taken aback by just how articulate he was, how assured. He was only nine years old, for Christ's sake! Most nine year old's didn't even know how to tie their own shoelaces, and you sure as hell weren't going to find them talking about what constitutes freedom and fairness.

For a long time, Ms. Wood's had had an inkling that Jack's intelligence was the root of all his problems. He was in her office at least five or six times a week, constantly getting in to fights with other children, getting in trouble for failing to pay attention in class, neglecting to do his homework and turning in blank tests.

His idiot teacher thought he was stupid and that's why he was doing so poorly, but Ms. Woods knew it was because he was bored. And his trouble with other children was a result of his inability to relate to them, and they to him.

She'd long ago suggested he be placed in a school for gifted children, or advanced placement, in a higher grade, where the course work might present more of a challenge to him and he wouldn't be singled out so much.

But her suggestions had fallen on deaf ears, and Jack's father had never returned her phone calls regarding the matter.

The latter hadn't really been much of a shock.

She'd suspected since day one that Jack's father was abusive towards him, but Jack would never talk about it, never admit to anything.

One only had to look at the almost daily fresh bruises along his face and arms to know something was happening to him at home. But without his cooperation, without his telling her the truth, there really wasn't anything she could do about it.

She was fearful that if she were to send child services to his house, they would find nothing, Jack would lie to them like he did to her, tell them his bruises came from rough play, and they'd again be back at square one. And she worried that the boy would be blamed for the CPS showing up, and God only knew what his father might do to him then.

But Jack's development lately was beginning to trouble her and she felt as though she were running out of options.

He'd always been involved in confrontations, always had difficulty adjusting and fitting in with the other kids here.

He'd been a target since day one, getting bullied and beat up, called names and made fun of.

Ms. Woods had always been quick to put a stop to it whenever she could, but the fact was, she wasn't always available to help Jack, busy with her job, spending most of the day in her office. She'd been horrified to see, on more than one occasion, Jack getting smacked around or harassed, only to find the adults who _were _around _allowing_ it to happen, doing nothing to intervene, either ignoring it, or more disturbing still, standing by and actually _watching_.

Nobody wanted to get their hands dirty. Nobody wanted to get involved.

If she hadn't thought before that there was something seriously wrong with the people who worked at this school, she certainly thought so after the first time she'd seen what they were letting happen to this boy.

It was almost like they had it out for Jack, like they disliked him as much as the other children for being different.

What was so strange to her was Jack's reactions towards all of this, towards getting beat up, getting called names and the school's staff, by and large, allowing for it to go on. He seemed to not _care_. To, largely, be emotionally unaffected by it. On more than a few occasions she'd seen him after he'd been beaten to a bloody pulp, seen him heckled and verbally assaulted by rings of children, shoved to the ground and laughed at. But she'd never once, not once, seen him cry, or appear even _marginally_ hurt by the attacks. A very few times she'd seen him grow annoyed, grow agitated and even angry, but she'd never seen him cry, never seen him wilt away or show any kind of fear, show that he'd been shaken at all.

That struck her as extremely odd for such a young child, especially a child going through the kinds of things he did.

It wasn't normal.

But then, she was beginning to realize there was very little about Jack she could describe as such.

Lately, the confrontations between him and the other children were becoming more violent, concerning to her, more violent on _Jack's_ part.

He'd taken to using weapons, his shoes, or sticks and rocks, whatever he could get his hands on. And though usually he found himself being attack by groups of three or four, and still coming out the worse for wear because of it, some of the injuries he'd managed to inflict on them were substantial, and more recently, like today, downright serious, requiring medical attention.

Most troubling to Ms. Woods, however, wasn't so much the brutality of his attacks, after all, you hit someone enough, and eventually they're going to strike back, but more so Jack's _attitude_ regarding them.

He seemed to think there was nothing wrong with his violent behavior. She would have understood better if he'd tried to _justify_ it, tell her he only did it because he was being bullied and didn't know what else to do. But he hadn't said that. He'd said he did it because he _wanted _to, feeling no need to explain himself beyond that, to excuse his actions. It was like he couldn't see why such conduct was inappropriate, or considered bad.

Like maybe he didn't know the _difference _between wrong and right.

She sighed, tapping her pencil restlessly on the desk.

Jack watched the motion, seemingly transfixed.

"Jack…" She began, determined not to give up, despite the fact she hadn't gotten anywhere with him the last, several months. "What's going on with you?"

His eyes moved from the pencil up to her face.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean _look_ at you!" Ms. Woods exclaimed. "You've got bruises all over your face, your hair and clothes are filthy, so's your skin! You look like you haven't had a bath in weeks! You're painfully thin. Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

He blinked at her, his expression unmoving.

"Nothing's going on." He finally answered after a moment.

She looked down, shaking her head in frustration.

She'd asked him before, but she was going to ask him again.

"… Jack, is your father abusing you?"

He smiled at her.

"No." He said, like all the times before, smoothly, easily.

She had a feeling that he knew she knew he was lying. But he didn't seem to care. He seemed almost amused by it.

"Why won't you tell me the truth?" She asked, growing impatient.

"That is the truth." He answered back.

Again she shook her head.

"Then why do you look like that? Why are you always coming to school with black eyes and bloodied noses? Why do you look like no one's bothering to take _care_ of you?"

"I've told you Ms. Woods…" He started calmly, still smiling. "Rough housing with other children, and the occasional fall down the stairs."

"I don't believe you Jack." She finally just admitted.

He shrugged.

"I never said you had to."

She licked her lips, regarding him a moment before again looking down to her notes.

"Jack, I'm going to be honest with you. Your behavior lately is troubling and I'm concerned. I'd like to have you take some tests, to try and better determine what your problems are and how we might best address them."

Jack narrowed his eyes at her, leaning back in his chair.

"I don't _have_ any problems." He said defensively. "What a stupid thing for you to say."

"Jack!"

"What? You don't agree? I don't act like how you _think_ I should and suddenly there's something wrong with me? Something that needs to be _fixed_?"

"Jack, that's not it." Ms. Woods tried to explain. "I'm just worried about you. You're an extremely intelligent young man. But like all gifted children, I think you're having trouble coping with your environment, and I'd like to help. They're just some evaluation tests, to see how we can help to improve your situation."

Jack's arms crossed over his chest.

"To see what's wrong with the way I _act_." He spit angrily.

"Jack…"

"And let me guess…" He continued, ignoring her warning. "I don't have a say in whether or not I take them, right?"

She eyed him a moment, saying nothing. And then she sighed, looking down.

"I'm going to require your cooperation Jack." She relented. "They're telling me suspension if you don't take the tests."

He smirked, shaking his head.

"Then that was _cute_ Ms. Woods. Saying you'd _like_ for me to take some tests. As if you really gave a shit about what I want."

"Jack Napier, you watch your mouth!" She snapped, shocked at his use of profanity.

But he only kept smiling.

"You think I care if I get suspended?" He asked.

She frowned.

"No. But I think your father might."

And the smile went quickly from Jack's face, staring hard at her.

"Pff, like it matters." He breathed after a moment, looking away.

Her forehead creased in worry as she took him in.

"Jack, _please_, just take them. It's just an Intelligence Equivalency test and a few other things. It won't take you more than an hour, I'm sure."

He shrugged, keeping his eyes cast to the side.

"Whatever." He said. "You're just going to lock me in this damn room and not let me leave until I do anyway."

"If that's what it comes to…" Ms. Woods began, not bothering to finish the sentence.

He shook his head, disgusted.

"Can I go now?" He asked finally.

And she nodded.

"Yes Jack, you may excuse yourself."

Without another word, and without bothering to again look at her, he slid out of his seat, turning and making way for the door.

"I'll send for you when I'm ready with the tests." She called behind him.

But he didn't bother to stop, or to acknowledge what she'd said, just turning the knob on the door and disappearing through it.

/

**Hey Guys! Sorry for the long delay between chapters! I've been busy trying to update all of my other stories as well. But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one. Please let me know what you think by leaving a review. And I promise I'll try and get the next update out sooner! Thanks so much to everyone who read this chapter, and everyone who read and reviewed the last as well!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

It had been the next morning, around 9 AM, when Ms. Woods had had Jack pulled from class, in to her office to take the tests.

He hadn't seemed too happy about it, sitting there for several minutes after she'd given him the sheets, tapping his pencil restlessly against the wood of the table and staring at her hard.

"Is there a problem Jack?" She'd asked.

And he'd just kept looking at her, several seconds passing in silence before, finally, he looked down.

"Multiple choice?" He'd questioned.

"Just the Intelligence Equivalency test Jack. The others ask that you write in the answers."

He'd looked up at her, annoyance in his eyes.

"What happens if I give the wrong answer?"

She'd shaken her head.

"There _are_ no wrong answers Jack. Just answer honestly and to the best of your abilities. This isn't a test you can fail. You aren't being graded or judged."

He continued to gaze at her skeptically for some moments before sighing, his eyes casting back to the sheets. And without another word, he'd begun.

The whole thing had taken him just a little over an hour.

Very fast, considering how many questions had been presented.

She hadn't known at first if that was because he simply hadn't been trying, or because he'd found it easy.

But now she knew.

And she felt a definite anxiousness as she found herself seated in Andrew Keller's office, the school's principle, waiting for him to get off the phone so she could talk to him.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he returned the receiver to its cradle, barely looking up to acknowledge her presence before he began shuffling some papers on his desk.

"What can I do for you Ms. Woods?" He began, disinterestedly.

She shifted, leaning slightly forward, holding up the file she'd had rested in her lap.

"Those tests you requested for Jack Napier…" She began, waiting for a reply.

She received none, and so she continued.

"He took them this morning."

Mr. Keller nodded, still not looking up.

"And…?"

"The boy's a genius Andrew." She answered. "He scored 190 on his IQ test."

Finally the principle stopped rifling, looking up at her.

"190?" He questioned, the sound of disbelief in his voice.

She nodded.

"… That can't be accurate. Are you sure you graded it correctly?"

"Positive." Ms. Woods answered. "Here, you can take a look yourself."

She stood, handing the test to him, along with the answer key.

He took it, laying it in front of him while pulling his glasses from his breast pocket and putting them on.

It took only a few moments to go over the entire thing, due to the key, Mr. Keller noting with growing amazement how almost every single questioned had been filled out with the correct answer. There were maybe ten questions which he'd missed.

He looked up after some seconds, staring at Ms. Woods, blinking.

He didn't know quite what to say.

"Well…" She asked.

He shook his head.

"You're right." He finally managed, then again fell silent.

Ms. Woods stared at him, expecting him to say something. When he didn't, she went on.

"_This _is the reason he's failing Andrew." She began. "He's _bored_. He needs to be placed in more advanced classes. With an IQ like that, he belongs in high school… probably _college_."

Mr. Keller shrugged, raising his hands up and letting them fall.

"Well that's all good and well Cynthia. But what do you want me to do about it? The boys father refuses to communicate with us. I'm shocked he even bothered having Jack enrolled in school at all."

She sighed, looking down.

"I don't know…" She started. "Without his father's consent, there isn't much we can do."

She shook her head.

"… His father's abusing him…"

"Did Jack tell you that?" Mr. Keller asked.

"No…" She said. "No, but I _know_ that's what's happening. You see him, the way he's always showing up to school with his face all busted up, how dirty he is, how _skinny_. He looks like he hasn't ever had a decent _meal_. He never has money to afford anything, class photos, school supplies…"

"It's suspicious, I'll admit. But unless he admits to it, or accuses the man, then there's nothing we can do about that either."

"… But isn't it our duty? He isn't saying anything because he's _frightened_, it's obvious. And that's not exactly _unusual _Andrew. There are countless cases of abuse where the child is too afraid to speak up, and it's our job as adults to…"

"Listen, Cynthia…" He cut her short. "I know you're well intentioned here, and believe me when I say I wish there were something we could do. But you know as well as I that if we send Social Services to Jack's home, it's likely to yield nothing, as is usual in these sorts of cases."

"But shouldn't we at least _try_?"

"And have a lawsuit come down on our asses? I'm sorry Cynthia, but I'm going to have to ask that you refrain from taking any sort of action unless Jack tells you himself what's going on."

She sighed, exasperated. Annoyed. She didn't understand what the point of having Jack take these tests was if they weren't going to use the results to any affect.

"Andrew… there's something else." She started, hesitant.

"What?" He questioned.

"… The other tests I administered to him, the psychological evaluation tests…"

He waited, expectant.

"The results, I believe are… cause for concern."

Mr. Keller exhaled, leaning back as though he'd been expecting this, but still couldn't help feeling agitated.

"Go on…" He said.

"I think Jack might benefit from speaking with a psychiatrist." She continued.

"A _psychiatrist_?" The principle sounded bemused.

"I'm not entirely qualified to say, since I only have a degree in psychology… But some of Jack's answers lead me to believe he might be suffering from… sociopathic tendencies. And with his behavior lately…"

"Wait, wait, wait… hold on a second here." Mr. Keller cut her short. "Are you telling me this kid is _dangerous_?"

"No…" She answered. "But… it's just... he doesn't have any friends. You see the way the other students treat him. They act like he's some diseased animal. I'm very concerned, with the kind of intellect he has, how that might be affecting him. He's constantly being bullied and harassed. His outbursts lately are clearly a result of that…"

"Cynthia, the school's budget doesn't allow for a God damned _doctor_ to come in just to help _one_ student through what's a typically common occurrence."

"Yes, but with some of the answers he gave, coupled with his intelligence and coming from an obviously unstable home life, I'm _very _worried." She tried to argue. "He may not be dangerous now, but he's showing signs that he _might_ be in the future, particularly to himself."

"Cynthia…" the principle sighed.

"Listen, just… look at some of the answers he gave to the questions he was asked." She handed him another sheet.

He rolled his eyes, taking the test from her and looking quickly over it.

She waited for him to respond, to say something.

But nearly a minute past without a word.

She grew impatient.

"Look at what he said to this question here!" She leaned over, her eyes finding what she wanted on the paper. "The question asks what he would do if he came across a burning building and he knew no one had called the fire department yet. He wrote that he'd stop and watch until the building had burnt to nothing but ash!"

"So the kid likes fire." Mr. Keller shrugged. "What kid doesn't?"

"He said it was because he liked the idea of things being wiped clean from _existence_!" Ms. Woods exclaimed, alarm in his voice. "That it was like starting over when nothing was left."

The principle again sighed.

"So the kids got an overactive imagination. That's not that strange, considering how smart this IQ test says he is."

She stared at him, her eyes wide.

"Well what about this?" She pointed to another question. "It asks what the best course of action is when either himself or another person is in physical distress. And he said the best thing to do is to _laugh_ because 'after all, laughter is the best medicine!' You can't tell me you don't see what's wrong with that Andrew!"

"Alright, I'll admit it's a little strange!" Mr. Keller relented. "But Cynthia, it isn't proof of anything beyond that. We already know he's an _odd _kid."

"It's a little more then that, Andrew." Ms. Woods insisted. "Jack needs help. I believe he needs _psychiatric_ help. He's very confused about what's considered socially acceptable, and I'm afraid that if he goes untreated, he may end up being a serious danger both to himself and others."

"Well that's good and _fine_ Cynthia!" The principle replied. "But the fact remains, there's nothing we can do about it! We can't afford to have a psychiatrist come in and treat the boy. Any such special attention would have to be arranged and paid for by his _father_."

Ms. Woods turned in frustration, her hands moving to her temples, beginning to massage them as she felt a headache coming on.

It didn't seem to matter what she said. She was getting no where.

"… What about his mother?" She asked, her back still to him.

"As far as I know, the kid doesn't have one." Mr. Keller answered. "She was never listed as a guardian, no contact information was ever given for her…"

"She must be somewhere…" Ms. Woods muttered, her voice wary.

"Of course. But we don't know where. For all we know, she could be dead. The only person listed as Jack's caregiver is his Dad. And the guy never answers his phone, so we can't even suggest any of this to him."

"Then what was the _point_?" She turned towards the principle finally, fed up. "What was the point in giving Jack all of these tests? If there's nothing we can do?"

Mr. Keller shrugged.

"It's just procedure Cynthia…" He said. "I don't know what you expect. You've been working here as long as I have. You know the drill. The most we can do without permission is to have him placed in special Ed."

"_Special Ed_!" She nearly laughed. "The kid's a _genius_ Andrew. He doesn't need to be put in a class with a bunch of kids who can't even count to ten!"

Again he shrugged.

"My hands are tied." He answered. "Now if you'll excuse me… I've got a lot of work to do."

She stared back at him, incredulous, her mind working furiously for something to say. For what she could say to make him understand.

But then he looked away from her, his eyes going back to his papers.

And she knew the conversation was over.

/

His eyes scanned briefly over the room, taking in the other students, talking amongst themselves and looking through whatever picture books the school's pathetic excuse for a library offered.

He sighed, his gaze falling back to the book in front on him, only half interested.

He was still annoyed at being made to take those ridiculous tests earlier.

Ms. Woods was probably in the principles office, right now, discussing all the things that were _wrong_ with him.

It made him angry.

It was so typical, for people to label whatever or whoever they couldn't understand as something needing _fixing_.

There was _nothing_ wrong with him, damn it! _They_ were the ones who needed to take a look in the mirror and reevaluate what they saw.

They didn't even realize how much they lied to themselves.

Pitiful, he thought.

He became so consumed in his thoughts and agitation at being treated as a lab experiment that he didn't even notice the girl who approached him as he sat, solitary, at one of the tables situated in the rooms upper, right corner.

"Hi Jack."

His head snapped up, taking in the pretty, dark haired girl who stood in front of him, smiling.

He'd seen her before, in class, but beyond that, they'd never interacted.

He said nothing, staring at her, bemused.

He was shocked she knew his name.

What was hers?

"My names Judy…" She said, as though she'd read his mind. "Sanders. I'm in your class."

He blinked at her, suddenly realizing he didn't quite know how to respond.

No one ever spoke to him, not unless it was to call him some absurd name or tell him they were going to kick his ass.

Certainly, he'd never had a girl come up to him like this before and engage him the way this girl now was.

He licked his lips, continuing to stare, and she took that as her cue to continue.

"What'cha reading there?" She asked, leaning forward to get a look at his book.

He blinked again, looking down.

"… It's a book on Norse mythology." He said flatly.

"Oh!" The girl went on. "You mean like Greek Mythology?"

He looked up.

"Not really…" He replied quietly.

Suddenly she reached out, touching the page.

"Who's that guy?"

He glanced to where she was pointing.

"… Loki." He answered. "The trickster God."

"Trickster God?" She wrinkled her nose. "What's he do?"

"_Do_?" Jack questioned.

"Yeah." Judy went on. "I mean, what are his powers? All God's have special powers, don't they?"

His eyes narrowed, and he found himself actually becoming mildly annoyed.

He shook his head, not sure how to explain it to someone who wasn't familiar with the mythos.

"He… makes things go wrong…" He said stiffly.

Judy's brow furrowed.

"Why would he do that?" She asked.

"Because he wants to…" Jack mumbled, his eyes now roaming behind her.

He was growing suspicious that one of the other students might have dared her to come over and talk to him, and he wanted to see _who_.

He watched for any hand covered giggling or finger pointing and curious looks.

He could see none.

"Well that's no reason at all." Judy went on. "He just… makes things go wrong because he _wants_ to? That's silly. There's no point."

His eyes snapped back to her, then fell back to the book.

"There's no point to _anything_." He muttered agitatedly, wishing she would just go away.

And she laughed, a light, airy sound, pleasant to the ears.

"Now that's even _sillier_." She said. "Of _course_ there is. We're here, aren't we?"

She sounded so sure.

He said nothing.

"You're really funny, you know that?" She went on.

"You shouldn't be talking to me." He snapped abruptly, looking back up again.

She blinked, her expression confused.

"Why not?"

"I'm a freak." He said. "Don' you know? And they'll think you're a freak too if you keep talking to me. They'll start bullying you."

She shrugged, and as if in response, pulled out the chair opposite him, sitting.

"I don't care what they think. I want to talk to you. I think you're nice."

He stared at her in disbelief, his gaze again moving over the room, still searching for any kind of sign that this was a trick.

When he saw nothing to indicate such, he looked back to her.

"How can you think I'm nice?" He asked. "You've never even talked to me before."

"I'm talking to you now, and I think you're nice."

He said nothing, only continued to gaze back at her.

He found himself actually lost for words.

This was foreign to him. He couldn't actually recall a point in his life when something like this had happened.

When someone had actually spoken to him just… _because_. Because they _wanted_ to, and not with the intent of somehow humiliating or hurting him, not that they ever accomplished it, he was quick to remind himself.

Stranger still was… this girl must have _known_ his reputation, must have known you didn't speak to him unless you too wanted to get beat up and made fun of. Yet, she didn't seem bothered by this, didn't seem concerned.

He was mistrustful of her intentions.

He kept thinking any minute she was going to pull a juice pouch from underneath the table and squirt it in his face, followed by the entire room erupting in to laughter.

… But the moment never came.

She just sat there, smiling, like she _meant_ it.

"How old are you?" She asked. "I just turned ten last week."

He sighed, realizing there was no getting rid of her. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and that's all there was to it.

"I'm nine." He said flatly, trying to seem disinterested.

The truth was, he felt confused, lost.

He truly could think of no reason this pretty girl had decided to start talking to him, but whatever it was, he was sure she was in for a rude awakening.

He noticed the other children starting to look over at them, tapping each other on the shoulder and pointing, just starting to notice what was going on.

But Jack could tell from the looks on their faces that they were just as shocked as he was.

So it wasn't a set up.

Great.

Well, he was certain he'd scare the girl off, sooner or later, as soon as she got to talking with him a little and saw how strange he was.

That was always what happened.

People got spooked by him, it seemed.

And then he could just get back to his book, to being left alone.

/

Twenty minutes later, and he'd begun to doubt his previous expectations.

She was still here, still talking to him, still as friendly as ever.

And more to his surprise, he realized, he was actually _enjoying_ it.

She was smart, energetic, enthused, and strangely captivating to him.

And she didn't seem weirded out by him, by the things he said.

She just kept laughing, telling him how funny he was, that she thought he was just about the funniest boy she'd ever met.

No one had ever said that to him before.

No one ever thought he was funny.

No one ever told him anything so nice.

/

_Please leave reviews guys!_


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